Why did bourbon have to smell so damn good on him?
“Sayyes?” She swallowed. “Yes to what? You haven’t asked me anything.” She felt her cheeks burn, her heart pound.
“I haven’t?”
“Uh-uh.”
He pulled back. “Nico.”
His voice had changed. He sounded serious.
“Will you, please, come with me?”
“And if I say no?” she heard herself saying.
She also heard a voice that sounded like Charles.You idiot!
“You won’t say no,” Rocco said, “because I know you want to come.”
“Aha, here we are again. You can read my mind.”
“Will you come? That’s twice I’ve asked you now.”
He leaned in closer, his breath hot, smelling like bourbon and caramel.
“Say. Yes. Nico.”
Those words and his breath surged through her like brush fire.
Her lips moved—barely—but no sound came out.
“Say. Yes. Now.” His voice part whisper, part groan.
He placed his hands on either side of her face, threading his fingers through her hair. His lips gently plucked hers, grazing her upper lip with his teeth. His breath was like a drug, and without thought, she opened her mouth wider, letting his wet tongue enter her.
Something’s different.
She placed her hands on his chest. Told herself to push him away. But he pulled her to him roughly, holding her tight as though he wanted to crush her. Only it didn’t hurt.
Not at all.
And then she suddenly realized.
He’s kissing me. That’s what’s different.
His fingers slid back until she felt them graze that scar.
She stiffened and pulled back.
He stopped. “Are you okay?”
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—meet his gaze. She felt sick.
“I have to go now.”
“You haven’t answered me yet. Will you come? That’s three times now.”
“And if I saymaybe?”
